


The Best Valentine's Day Ever (Are you kidding me?)

by jenny_wren



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Harry Potter Next Generation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-11 06:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3317648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenny_wren/pseuds/jenny_wren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valentine's Day at Hogwarts. It could go better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly a Les Mis fic but Harry does make an appearance so I think it is now technically a crossover.
> 
> Houses as follows
> 
> Gryffidor: Bahorel, muggle-born; Courfeyrac, pureblood  
> Hufflepuff: Joly, muggle-born; Bossuet, muggle-born; Grantaire, technically halfblood but disowned by his Wizard father and identifies as muggle-born  
> Ravenclaw: Jehan, pureblood; Marius, considered a pureblood because his grandfather covered up the fact his father was actually a muggle  
> Slytherin: Enjolras, pureblood; Combefere, pureblood; Feuilly, muggle-born

Grantaire woke up in a hurry as he tried to fight off a troll who turned out to just be Joly and Bossuet shaking him awake.

“Where’s the fire?” he grumbled hand twitching for his wand. Unable to find it he decided Joly had probably had the sense to move it out of grabbing distance before rattling him around like a rag doll. 

It was all too much effort at whatever horribly early time in the morning this was so, defiantly ignoring his dorm mates’ blandishments, Grantaire rolled over and did his best to bury himself back in his bed.

The duvet was yanked off him.

“Hey,” Grantaire shot up indignantly, “this is cruel and unusual punishment.” Scotland in February was _cold_.

“Cruel yes, unusual no,” said Bossuet heartlessly. “You shouldn’t be so hard to wake up.”

“Anyway, don’t you want to know why we’re waking you up?” asked Joly with all the eagerness of an excited puppy.

Curiosity stretched and slowly woke up in Grantaire’s befuddled brain. “What’s going on?”

“Look!”

On the floor at the foot of his bed was a box about the size of two shoe boxes wrapped in cheerful yellow and black paper.

“Guys you shouldn’t have,” said Grantaire because his flippancy was up and running even if the rest of him wasn’t.

“It’s not from us,” said Joly, scandalized.

“It’s from your Valentine,” Bossuet somehow managed to sound amused and lecherous at the same time.

“I what, I don’t have a Valentine.”

They both pointed mutely at the damning box. It was, Grantaire squinted at the calendar on the wall just to be sure, and it definitely was the fourteenth of February and he had a parcel with a fancy gift tag attached with elaborate inked question mark.

It seemed Grantaire did actually have a Valentine.

“Oh,” he said blankly.

Joly and Bossuet wriggled with excitement, elbowing each other like six years olds. “Do you think it could be from...?” Joly started at the same time Bossuet said, “It might be from…”

“No,” said Grantaire because he wasn’t thinking about how Enjolras had been weirdly – well not nice, because Enjolras was the least nice person ever – maybe weirdly intense. Intense was a good word for Enjolras. And he had started being intense at Grantaire, instead of angry, or disparaging, or simply ignoring. Of the three Grantaire least favorite was ignoring, fortunately he knew lots of tricks to get rid of ignoring. And lately he’d been getting intense which…

He was not thinking obsessively about at all because it would send him completely round the twist and drive him to do something crazy like actually talk to Enjolras about it. That way lay madness, so no, Grantaire was not thinking about Enjolras or his brilliant blue eyes and soft golden curls (seriously, Grantaire had accidentally brushed his hand against them once and he’d have guessed it would slice his hand open, but no, Enjolras’ hair was amazingly soft, like Enjolras could be unexpectedly soft when it came to friends) or his sharp tongue and fiery ideals, _at all_.

“Do you know, I think your eyes actually change color when you think about Enjolras,” said Joly.

“What are you talking about?” Grantaire asked, having lost the thread of the conversation.

“You’re right,” said Bossuet. “I thought he just looked more cheerful generally, but right then his eyes were the brightest green.”

“My eyes are muddy duckpond and I was not thinking about Enjolras.”

“Your green eyes say you lie,” Bossuet laughed. “Now are you going to open your gift before or after Joly explodes from anticipation?"

Grantaire didn’t want to be excited but it was a big box just for him, so yeah he wanted to know what was inside, and maybe it was from….

“Oooh,” said Joly and Bossuet together staring right at his eyes.

Grantaire blinked and then turned his head away, grabbing his dressing gown to keep his attention focused away from them. They were probably just being little shits but he’d do some experimenting in front of a mirror later to make sure.

“Parcel, par-cel, par-cel,” the troublesome twosome started to chant, and were promptly zinged with a shoe from one of the other unfortunates who had to share a dorm room with them. Said unfortunate was able to roll straight over and go back to sleep though, so Grantaire didn’t feel too sorry for them.

Joly and Bossuet fell silent and picked up the box and placed it on Grantaire’s lap with great ceremony, going so far as to make exaggeratedly low pureblood bows. Grantaire laughed but didn’t mock them like they deserved because he was actually getting invested in the parcel and its contents.

Carefully he lifted the lid and reached inside the crumpled tissue paper. The sour smell of preserving spirits hit his nose at the same time his fingers squidged against something damp and tacky.

“Oh ick,” Grantaire jerked away from the contact, upsetting the box and dislodging the contents which landed on the floor by his feet with soft plop.

Grantaire stared at the pink fleshy heap for a stunned moment, then hurriedly yanked his feet up onto the bed away from the thing.

“What is that?” he demanded shrilly.

He’d made enough noise that whole dorm had groggily staggered around to see. Bossuet sat down beside him and but his arm around his shoulder. Joly crouched down and poked cautiously with his biro.

“I think it’s a heart.”

“A heart? Who’s heart?” Grantaire was feeling a bit delirious. Maybe he’d wake up in a minute and this would just be a weird dream brought on by too much firewhiskey.

“Somebody very dead,” said one of their other dorm mates ghoulishly. Grantaire was still so off balance he couldn’t identify who and glower at them properly.

“A human heart would be smaller,” said Joly too caught up in the science to be complaining about germs, although Grantaire figured he’d wash his hands six times in a row before breakfast.

“How do you know that?” somebody asked suspiciously.

“He’s a muggle-born. They know all sorts of dodgy stuff.”

Grantaire shook off some of his shock. He knew how to deal with that. He glared at Macmillan who was always the one quickest to jump on the ‘muggle-borns aren’t really part of the team’ bandwagon, not that the rest of the badgers weren’t happy to join him.

“Joly is going to be a doctor. He’s taking his biology A-level.”

“Whatever that means.”

Grantaire curled his hands into fists, “I’ve explained to you what it means, at length, want me to explain it again?”

“No,” sulked Macmillan, who like most pure-bloods was happy enough to fling his wand around but was a total wuss when it came to getting punched in the face.

“Good, now shove off.”

Muttering about muggle-borns and their low manners the rest of them left. Grantaire flopped back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. 

“God, this is just going to be one of those days, isn’t it?”

“I think it’s a cow heart,” said Joly, “it’s about the right size and they’d be easy enough to get hold of.”

“A simple yes would have been enough,” Grantaire groaned. Somebody had sent him a cow’s heart for Valentine’s Day, obviously things could only get worse.

“Huh?” said Joly, and Bossuet said, “Look at this way, you can tell Enjolras the purebloods are harassing you again and enjoy watching him get all huffy and puffy on your behalf.”

“Enjolras is far too elegant to ever huff and puff.” He did get enraged though, and it was beautiful to watch.

“I don’t know how we never noticed before,” Bossuet was staring directly at his eyes. Grantaire closed them firmly and made determined plans to find a quiet spot with a mirror as soon as possible, he knew he was obvious about his feelings for Enjolras, but he’d rather not be quite that obvious, thank you all the same. That was for later though, right now, “Come on, breakfast.”

Joly’s squeal of dismay when he realized he’d been poking at an actual cow’s heart was nicely distracting and Bossuet and Grantaire ran around fetching antiseptic wipes and soap and a plastic bag to scoop up the heart in. In absence of other options they stuffed it back in the box and kicked it down the corridor to the incinerator where the house elves working there took pity on them and took charge of it.

They deliberately walked in the Great Hall talking together and not paying attention to the rest of the room. Whoever had sent the cow’s heart would be looking for reaction and they were determined not to give them one. Fortunately over at the Gryffindor table James Sirius Potter was showing off his huge pile of Valentines to Montparnasse – and by extension the whole school – which helpfully distracted from their late entrance.

Once they were safely seated and had served themselves breakfast, Grantaire risked looking around for Enjolras – And of course the Slytherin had already left. Today was definitely going to be one of those days.


	2. Chapter 2

Enjolras curled up in his bed and pretended he could make the world disappear, mutely ignoring all Combeferre’s coaxing.

“If you don’t get out of bed, I’m going to send Feuilly to get Courfeyrac.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. Like Combeferre hadn’t already sent Feuilly to track down their other best friend.

Combeferre sighed. “It’s very inconvenient Courf getting sorted into Gryffindor. We’d get on much better if he was with us. It’s like they want us to turn into obsessives who can’t see what’s right under our noses.”

He’d deny it but Enjolras definitely sniffled.

“Oh Enj, I wasn’t talking about you.”

“Yes you were. And it’s true. I didn’t appreciate Grantaire when I should have done, and now he hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

That was unworthy of Combeferre. Enjolras stared at his best friend until Combeferre glanced away.

“Okay, maybe R’s annoyed with you at the moment, but he doesn’t hate you.”

“He,” Enjolras’ throat closed up. It had felt like Grantaire’s was kicking his heart down the corridor while he laughed and joked with Joly and Bossuet.

“He didn’t know you were there.”

Enjolras blinked wetly, was that supposed to make it better.

“Maybe he didn’t realize it was you. It’s a muggle thing; maybe he thought it was one of the other muggle-borns?”

“My name was in the box. Wouldn’t you check who’d sent you a heart for Valentine’s Day before incinerating it?”

“Maybe you should have started smaller, he probably didn’t realize you were being serious.”

It would be nice to believe that, but Grantaire was secretly a hopeless romantic. It was a gesture he would have loved – if it came from the right person. Enjolras was obviously just not the right person; he curled in on himself a little tighter.

“Where the hell is Courf anyway? This is his job.”

“Sorry,” Enjolras muttered into his knees.

“No I’m sorry, I’m not doing a very good job of cheering you up. I don’t understand…” Combeferre broke off to glare at the floor.

They both jumped when their dorm room door slammed open and Scorpius Malfoy skidded inside,

“The Aurors are here, looking for Enjolras,” and then, warning given, he dashed away again. The fifth year’s family didn’t have the best history with Law Enforcement.

“What?” Enjolras sat up straight in automatic defiance at the threat.

“Enjolras, what have you done?”

“I haven’t done anything,” he protested, not sure if he should be insulted or honored by the assumption.

Combeferre studied him, “That might be true,” he said doubtfully. “The anti-werewolf legislation protest was over a month ago. You’ve been obsessing about Valentine’s Day since then. And you haven’t had time to do anything crazy this morning. I’ve been with you the whole time.”

“I haven’t done anything,” Enjolras said again.

Which was when Headmaster Valjean, surprisingly stern and serious, arrived accompanied by two Aurors.

 

Grantaire pouted. He hadn’t hoped for much from Valentine’s Day but he’d been expecting to at least see Enjolras. But both he and Combeferre had been missing from the Transfiguration NEWT class, and oh horrid thought, maybe Enjolras and Combeferre were celebrating Valentine’s Day _together_.

“R!” Bossuet’s sharp elbow poked him in the ribs. “Stop thinking about Enjolras, you’re making the desk shake.”

“Oops, sorry.” Grantaire concentrated on thinking calm, peaceful, non-Enjolras thoughts until the desk settled down and the chairs stopped rattling. He turned his full attention to transforming the teacup into a teatowel, a nice blue tea towel just the same shade as Enjolras’ eyes. Eyes that right at this minute might be staring lovingly at Combeferre.

The teatowel burst into flames.

“Oh my God,” said Bossuet, “you’re going to be completely impossible today aren’t you.” And got them both out of class with the excuse Grantaire had a fever.

“He doesn’t look well,” the Professor agreed. Grantaire knew that really the man just wanted them out the class. With Bossuet’s natural clumsiness and Grantaire’s natural lack of ability, they were not popular.

They were taking the back route to the kitchen, Bossuet claiming he needed a second breakfast to deal with Grantaire today, when Combeferre and Bahorel appeared like vengeful apparitions.

“What happened?” Grantaire could feel his knees start to shake. He’d grown used to Enjolras descending on him like the wrath of an angry god almost to the point of enjoying it. Seeing Combeferre so angry was just scary.

“Enjolras has been arrested.”

“What for? Our last protest was ages ago.”

Bahorel dropped heavy arms around his and Bossuet’s shoulders scooping them along and depositing them in an empty classroom. Joly, Courfeyrac and Feuilly were already there. Joly was waving his arms in agitation,

“You’re all wrong,” he insisted.

“J?” asked Bossuet.

“There you are, come and tell them how wrong they’re being.”

Bossuet scowled at the group, “You’re all wrong,” he agreed and linked his arm with Joly’s.

“Yes, yes,” said Grantaire impatiently, “they’re all wrong, obviously, but what’s this about Enjolras being arrested. What for?”

Combeferre was looking at him like he was a new species of bug he couldn’t quite classify, but Grantaire didn’t care about that right now. 

“Why has Enjolras been arrested? Is he okay?” Suddenly all the ways somebody who’d been arrested could not be okay popped into his head. Enjolras always came home with the worst bruises from their protests.

Grantaire started to shake. Vaguely he heard Bossuet swearing, glass pinging – and the next thing he knew he was sitting on the floor with Combeferre holding his hands telling him Enjolras was just fine.

"Are you sure?”

“Of course I am,” said Combeferre. And he was lying, Grantaire could tell, but he made a valiant effort to believe him all the same. Now was not the time to have one of his stupid panic attacks. He pulled his hands free and scrubbed at his eyes.

“Sorry,” he muttered. He looked around to see what the damage was and winced when he saw the windows were shattered. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Joly, “it will give the House Elves something to do. You know you’re their favorite student.”

“Yeah, because I keep breaking things.” Grantaire staggered to his feet and wished for a Fire whiskey so at least he’d have a decent reason for feeling so wrecked. Combeferre was looking at him like he was a bug again. Grantaire squirmed and wondered what he’d done wrong now.

“So you decided you hadn’t punished Enjolras enough for ignoring you, was that it?”

“What?” Grantaire demanded blankly.

“I told you,” said Joly. “We had nothing to do with this.”

“Grantaire certainly has something to do with this,” said Combeferre with studied neutrality.

“What?” Grantaire was starting to get annoyed. “If I’ve broken something crucial I’m sorry, okay. If everyone calms down, I’ll have a go at fixing it, alright. Just tell me what’s happened to Enjolras.”

“He’s been arrested for muggle-born abuse,” Combeferre explained, watching them closely.

“What! That’s ridiculous! Enjolras wouldn’t bash anybody, and definitely not muggle-borns.” Anger was pooling through him like liquid heat. Grantaire had a brief moment to wonder if this was how Enjolras felt all the time and if so how hadn’t he burned the world down. 

Grantaire wanted to destroy things. He might think Enjolras was an idiot for intending to throw his life away on campaigning for equal rights that were never going to be granted, but nobody got away with accusing Enjolras of being one of the people kicking them down.

“This has to be a plot by Montparnasse. Who’s he accused of abusing? Give me the names and I’ll go have a word with them.” Grantaire smiled meanly.

“A word?”

“Well they’re clearly a bit confused about what constitutes abuse. Once I’m through with them, I’m sure I’ll have clarified things nicely.”

Combeferre laughed suddenly, “Did you know when you get mad, you talk just like Enjolras.”

“What has that got to do with anything?” but Grantaire didn’t really mind. Combeferre so longer appeared worn down to bone. If it took laughing at Grantaire to stop him looking so exhausted, Grantaire was fine with that.

“So,” he grinned. “Give me the names.”

“Yeah, there’s just one problem with that. The person Enjolras has been arrested for abusing is you, Grantaire.”


	3. Chapter 3

Grantaire tried to say something but choked on his own shock.

“Which is ridiculous,” Joly was still waving around the arm that wasn’t linked with Bossuet’s.

“What he said,” Bossuet agreed. “You can’t tell me you actually thought Grantaire…”

Grantaire made another attempt to say something but all that came out was a miserable gurgle. His friends couldn’t believe that, Enjolras couldn’t believe that.

“They have evidence,” Combeferre rubbed at his nose.

“Azkaban,” cried Courfeyrac. “They’re talking about sending him to Azkaban.” He was clearly far past the point of worrying about petty things like how the situation had occurred and deep into the need to fix it somehow.

Grantaire shook his head at the stupidity pile-up. “This is all nonsense. I haven’t complained about Enjolras harassing me, principally because _he hasn’t harassed me_. And they’re not going to send a student to Azkaban anyway, Enjolras isn’t even seventeen yet.”

“They won’t care about that,” said Feuilly, “he’s a Slytherin after all.”

“Yeah and Muggle-born abuse is an easy thing to hang on a Slytherin, but come on, this is Enjolras.” Enjolras who was dedicated to full rights for muggle-borns and squibs, and protecting muggles from abuse by magicals. Enjolras who was going to get himself arrested and sentenced sooner or later but never for something like this.

“What are we going to do?” Courfeyrac tugged distractedly at his hair.

Grantaire shrugged his shoulders, it didn’t seem much of a problem him, “It’s easy. I’ll go tell them somebody screwed up, problem solved.”

“Not quite,” said Jehan, appearing suddenly outside. He eyed the shattered windows, “At least you’re always easy to find when you’re upset, R.” He put one hand on the window sill and there was a brief flare of magic as he vaulted nimbly inside, twisting smoothly to avoid the broken sharp-edged glass.

Behind him, still outside, Marius edged forward and squinted suspiciously at the spikiness.

“No, no,” said Grantaire hastily, everybody else seemed too wrapped up in Enjolras’ mess to put a stop to the impending disaster. “Marius don’t even think of trying to slide through the window like Jehan, you’re much too,” he just managed to bite back clumsy and substitute, “tall.”

“If you say so,” Marius smiled gratefully.

“Hang on a tick.” Grantaire reached out to open the window and let him in but as he tugged at the catch the whole frame fell out of the wall and in making sure it didn’t land on top of Marius he brought it down on himself with a resounding crash.

“Ouch.”

“Oh R,” said Jehan. He leaned closer to whisper, “and you had the nerve to call Marius too _tall_.”

“Great,” Bahorel smacked his hands together in frustration, “now you really look like you’ve been Muggle-bashed.”

“I’m fi- yuck,” Grantaire spat out dust and ground glass.

Combeferre sighed his heavy, why do you make my life so hard, sigh. Grantaire felt quite proud, usually only Enjolras managed to provoke that sigh.

“Joly.”

“Yes Ferre.”

“Can you please try and make Grantaire look less like we’ve been beating him up behind the broom shed.”

Grantaire would have protested but was distracted by the discovery that it wasn’t dirt clogging his eyes but blood dripping down from a cut on his forehead. Joly drew his wand and began trace a delicate pattern through the air. The stinging aches littering Grantaire’s skin eased.

“Thanks J.”

“The practice is good for me. Though I do wish you lot would give me less to practice on. Bossuet come here and see if you can get the dust out of his hair.”

“So where have you two been?” Combeferre asked Jehan. Grantaire pricked up his ears, he’d been wondering where their Ravenclaw contingent had got to.

“Getting the most up to date information, of course.”

“Of course. So?”

“So there’s one tiny hitch in Grantaire’s otherwise excellent plan.”

“Oh?”

“Enjolras has confessed.”

“What!”

“That’s insane,” said Grantaire, then he cringed as he realized all his friends were staring at him, frozen silent and still. “Guys?”

“Grantaire,” Combeferre’s voice was careful and kind, “is there something you need to tell us?”

“No. What. _No_.”

“I know Enjolras has a bad temper but you shouldn’t ever have to feel – ”

“No, no, no. Shut up right this minute.” Grantaire waved his arms in frantic negation. This was worse than them believing he had lied to stitch Enjolras up. “Enjolras would never, ever. Just shut up. You’re supposed to be his friends.”

“You’re our friend too, R.”

“I don’t care, you don’t get to say things like that about Enjolras.”

“If Enjolras didn’t… Why would he say he did?”

Grantaire’s stomach turned over as he thought about why exactly Enjolras might have confessed to something he hadn’t done.

“Grantaire?”

“R.”

“R, you have to calm down.”

Arms flung themselves around him, and Grantaire was vaguely aware Joly and Bossuet had squished him between them. Somewhere in the distance he could hear Courfeyrac yelling at Combeferre,

“Why would you say that to him? You know Grantaire’s hopeless at holding in his magic when he gets worked up. He’s already blown the windows.”

“Do you think this is easy for me?” Combeferre’s voice broke.

Grantaire’s whole body shuddered and he could almost feel something snap inside his head. The swirling mess of his magic, that he usually struggled to swallow down and keep buried but sometimes surged completely out of his control, abruptly iced up. Everything went as perfectly cold and empty as the void.

Somebody had hurt his Enjolras, might still be hurting his Enjolras. That somebody was going to pay. He shook himself free of his comforters,

“I’m good.”

He received a number of dubious glances.

“Better than Enjolras anyway.”

“Okay,” said Combeferre, watching him cautiously. When Grantaire didn’t explode in front of their eyes, he continued,

“So Enjolras confessed. Jehan, how do you even know this?”

Privately Grantaire believed Jehan could talk to cats and they told him all the Castle’s secrets. His other friends all said nobody could talk to cats, but Jehan had never confirmed or denied.

“We, uh,” he glanced at Marius.

“Shamelessly took advantage?” suggested Marius, almost smiling.

“Yeah that,” Jehan agreed. “Alan told us.”

“Jehan Prouvaire, I’m ashamed of you, using that poor boy’s infatuation against him,” accused Courfeyrac. His voice was a little too shrill and his teasing a little too desperate but they all appreciated the effort. 

Alan was the unfortunately named Albus Potter who had a furious crush on Jehan for managing to change his name from Jean. Albus was still working on changing his own name. The only person to consistently call him Alan was Jehan, which only made his crush worse but Jehan insisted name change bros had to stick together.

“How did Alb- Alan know?” Grantaire demanded.

“He shamelessly took advantage of his father’s name and asked the Aurors what was going on. They fell all over themselves to tell him.”

“So, that’s the situation,” Marius rubbed his hands together anxiously. “What do we do now?”

 

In the Headmaster’s office Enjolras sat stiff and straight, absolutely refusing to give way to howling misery within him.

He’d been annoyed at first that Grantaire had reported him for harassment. If Grantaire didn’t appreciate his Valentine’s gift then fine, Enjolras understood, he wouldn’t bother him again. Grantaire didn’t need to say he was abusing him. Enjolras had done no such thing, and if Grantaire had felt harassed then he should know all he needed to do was say and Enjolras would give him all the space he needed.

Then the Aurors had dragged him through half-a-dozen penesieve memories of an angry Enjolras snarling at a miserable Grantaire. Whenever they had one of their shouting matches Enjolras had always been too infuriated to see how unhappy Grantaire was when they fought. Small and shrunken, his skin almost grey and his beautiful green eyes a horrible murky mess.

The final penesieve broke him. Grantaire was huddled up in Joly’s arms gasping out between painful sobs,

“En-jolras hates me-e.”

Unable to take any more, Enjolras had pressed his head into his knees and agreed to everything the Aurors said.


	4. Chapter 4

Combeferre tiredly rubbed his hands against his face. “Let’s review before we make any hasty decisions. We need to work out what happened and who accused Enjolras. If it wasn’t Grantaire,”

“It was not,” said Joly Bossuet determinedly together.

“And it wasn’t one or the other of you defending him?” Now he thought about it that seemed the more credible option.

“Not that we wouldn’t like Enjolras to be a bit nicer to R, but do you have any idea what Grantaire would do to us?” Joly shuddered, not wholly theatrically.

“It would be very, very bad,” Bossuet agreed. “And pointless because Grantaire would lie himself blue in the face for Enjolras. Let’s be honest here, he’d climb on the altar to have his heart cut out in one of your Dark Rites if that’s what Enjolras wanted.”

“See I would have agreed with you,” said Combeferre, “but if that’s true why did he reject Enjolras?”

“Grantaire reject Enjolras? I think you’ve got them the wrong way around.”

“No. You all incinerated the heart Enjolras sent him.”

“Wait, Enjolras sent the cow heart?” Joly appeared honestly shocked. “Why the hell would Enjolras send him a cow heart? Is this some weird pureblood thing or something? Why does nobody ever tell us about this stuff?”

“It’s not a pureblood thing. I mean there’s an old tradition of sending the still beating hearts of your love’s enemies but nobody really does that anymore.”

“The Blacks used to cut out the hearts of the other suitors for their lady’s hand and send those,” said Jehan happily. “That’s properly Romantic.”

Combeferre covered his face with one hand, “Yes thank you Jehan. You can always rely on the Blacks to turn things up to eleven.”

“Oh my god,” said Bossuet, “a cow’s heart is _tame_ to you lot. You’re all completely mad.”

“Hey,” said Courfeyrac, “we respect your traditions. If you want a cow’s heart, even if that’s kind of, uh, boring, that’s fine by us. Though we had a hell of time convincing Enjolras not to send a dragon’s heart. He thought that would be nice a sort of Wizardly contribution to a Muggle tradition. Would Grantaire have preferred that? Is that what the problem was?”

“No, no, no,” cried Bossuet. “Grantaire is as squeamish as hell. You know this. He was always blowing his potions up because they had the wrong stuff in them since he wouldn’t dissect his own ingredients.”

“Really,” Courfeyrac blinked in surprise, “that’s what that was about. I always thought it was a bad attempt at flirting with Enjolras.”

“No way. Back us up here guys,” Bossuet turned to the other muggle-borns, Bahorel and Feuilly.

“Squeamish as hell,” agreed Bahorel. “That’s why he doesn’t have an owl. He can’t face buying mice to feed it.”

“But he uses the school owls?” Combeferre found it hard to believe they would lie to him but this was ridiculous. “He likes the school owls. They’re always landing on his shoulder for head scratches.”

“We’re not saying it’s logical,” said Feuilly, “but Grantaire’s soft-hearted even for a Hufflepuff.”

“Hey,” Joly and Bossuet objected.

“Oh shut up, you both know it’s true. Grantaire’s the worst. Soft as butter, which is one of the reasons he and Enjolras are so hilarious.”

Everybody shouted at Feuilly then, but he just shrugged, “Whatever. It’s still true. Grantaire’s too soft to object to anything anyone else does, but he can’t stand the idea of killing anything himself. You have at least noticed he’ll spell a bug out of the room instead of swatting it?”

Combeferre had noticed that, “I thought that was some muggle thing?”

“I suppose it is in a way, but it’s mostly a Grantaire thing. Lots of Muggles are quite happy to swat any bug that comes their way. I did tell you the heart was a bad idea. For Merlin’s sake our boy’s a vegetarian.”

“You could have been a bit clearer. I thought you meant he wouldn’t like a gift from Enjolras. And I still don’t understand why being keen on vegetables makes any odds.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” when Feuilly’s temper was really pushed he always reverted to swearing the muggle way, “a vegetarian is somebody who only eats vegetables.”

Combeferre glanced around and was relieved to see that the rest of purebloods looked as confused as he felt.

“Only eats vegetables?” Courfeyrac’s face wrinkled up in puzzlement, “Why would you do that?”

“Because he’s a masochist,” said Bahorel cheerfully, only to be shouted down by Joly and Bossuet.

“Don’t be factious, you idiot,” said Joly, “we’re tangled up enough as it is, we don’t need you being deliberately obstructive. Vegetarianism is a choice some people make. There are lots of reasons, because they think it’s healthy, or because they think factory farming is cruel, because of their religion or culture, lots of reasons.”

“Or like Grantaire, they can’t stand the idea of eating something that was once alive,” said Bossuet. “It’s a good job you didn’t go with the dragon heart. He really wouldn’t have been able to cope with that.” 

“But.”

“Just accept it’s not logical,” said Feuilly. “It’s cultural. Cows are food, even if you don’t actually eat them. Cats are not food, and you wouldn’t believe the fuss British Muggles, who happily eat beef, will make about people eating cats.” Feuilly stopped and turned his head as if he was suddenly aware he’d said something wrong.

Combeferre was frozen in place. It was vile anti-Muggle propaganda and Feuilly was telling him it was true. All his fellow purebloods looked sick. Courfeyrac was pale and sweating,

“You, Muggles really eat cats?”

Feuilly laughed, “Seriously, that’s what it takes to turn you lot’s stomachs? Cats? I’ll have to remember that. And Muggles in the UK generally don’t, most of them would screw up their noses at the idea, but elsewhere, yeah, sure they do.”

Marius made a gagging sound, collapsed to his knees and threw up.

Joly drew his wand and twisted a circle to clear up the mess then conjured a glass of water and crouched down beside Marius.

“Okay,” Bossuet scrubbed his hands across his bald head, “I wouldn’t eat cat myself but why is this much a thing?”

“Cats are magic,” Combeferre stammered. “They all have a spark of magic. You can’t… Muggles really..?”

“Sure,” Feuilly was still grinning. He really didn’t seem to have understood what he’d said. He was just enjoying tormenting the purebloods for once. If this how the muggle-borns felt those times they went pale and clutched each other’s hands then Combeferre owed them an apology. 

Now he was thinking about it, he did remember that time they were studying the Misrageous Potion which required the addition of a live sparrow when it was on the boil. As Professor Sangrail was writing the directions on the board Grantaire, in one of his more spectacular failures, had been sick and somehow managed to blow up his completely empty cauldron. Combeferre remembered the incident particularly because Feuilly had accompanied the three Hufflepuffs in their retreat to the Healer and all four of them had failed that section of class.

“You could consider it deeply Gothic,” said Jehan, still pale but rallying fast, “a dark and terrible tragedy.”

“Can we stop talking about this?” begged Marius. “Please?”

“Let’s talk about how Grantaire is legitimately that awful at potions,” Courfeyrac shook his head. “I really thought he was just trying to get extra ‘tutoring’,” he did finger quotes, Combeferre really wished nobody had ever shown him that annoying muggle trick, “from our resident potions expert.”

Joly stood up, “No. We’re getting off the point. Given a cow heart is, short of some fairly horrifying alternatives, the very last thing Grantaire would want – why did you decide to send him one if it isn’t a pureblood tradition?”

“Oh,” winced Combeferre, “ah.”

“Oh,” Courfeyrac squirmed. “Oh dear, Enjolras is going to be furious.”

“Enjolras is always furious,” said Feuilly, “but please do explain. I thought it was a pureblood thing or I’d have been louder about it being a bad idea. Sorry I didn’t realize you’d all gone round the bend.”

“We didn’t go round the bend,” Combeferre explained slowly, “we were played.”

“Played?”

“Played like a violin.” Courfeyrac giggled suddenly, “Enj is going to go ballistic. I don’t think we’ll be troubled by Montparnasse again.”

“Montparnasse?”

“Yes. He was talking to James Sirius in the library about he was finally going to win over Eponine this Valentine’s Day. How he was going to respect their Muggle heritage and give her a heart and that she’d accept it and they’d cook and share it together. It sounded quite lovely.”

“That should have been your second clue, Montparnasse is never lovely,” Feuilly scowled. “Your first clue should have been him talking about respecting his muggle heritage, the guy is a total top hat.”

“Feuilly you can’t call someone a top hat.” Joly scolded.

“Even if he is one? There is no greater example of a muggle desperately pretending to be magical than Montparnasse. If he had to pull a rabbit out of his arse, he’d do it.”

“Feuilly!”

“Oh don’t tell me you don’t think it too.”

“Enough,” Combeferre shouted. “Feuilly, please try and avoid sinking to Montparnasse’s level. He is a Wizard when all’s said and done.”

Feuilly muttered something, but low enough Combeferre could ignore it and continue,

“Now we’ve worked out what happened, and I think we can agree we can safely leave the question of retribution to Enjolras – ”

“And Grantaire,” said Bahorel. “You think Enjolras will go ballistic, wait til you see R when he realizes Montparnasse cheated him out of a proper Valentine’s with Enjolras.”

Combeferre didn’t think that was much of a threat compared to a furious Enjolras but Joly and Bossuet both winced and Feuilly grinned.

Then Joly looked around, “Wait a minute, where is Grantaire?”

Combeferre hurriedly scanned the room, “Is he outside?” Jehan ran to the windows to check, and Marius headed for the door.

“Oh shit,” said Bossuet.

“It will be okay,” Combeferre reassured. “We’ll find him and sort this out. We’re not going to let anything happen to Grantaire.”

“I’m not worried about R. I’m worried about what he’s about to do. Where is Enjolras?”

“He’s in the Headmaster’s Office.”

“Right let’s go.” 

Bahorel and Feuilly drew their wands and started to run, Joly and Bossuet following them. Combeferre exchanged glances with the others but there was no question that they would back their friends up so they chased after them.

They were about half way to the headmaster’s office when they felt Grantaire’s magic roll over them like thunder.

“Oh shit,” said Combeferre


	5. Harry Interlude

Harry Potter was sitting in his office pretending to work, but mostly hitting refresh on the monitor feed from the team at Hogwarts. The report of Muggle-born abuse at Hogwarts was not technically something the Head Auror should concern himself with, and Harry tried very hard not to hover obsessively over his children, so he had let the next team in line take the case and managed to restrain himself to only telling them twice to floo him immediately if his children had been affected in any way by the bullying.

So far no floo call had come but Harry was still twitchy. With a muggle-born grandmother his children were classified as half-bloods (if you were the sort of person who wanted to classify them as anything at all, Harry classified them as _his children_ and woe betide anyone who hurt them) and could still easily pick up flack given Harry’s high profile.

His Aurors had reported back the guilty party had confessed and they were currently putting the fear of God into him and Harry tried to be happy with that but he still had the uneasy feeling something was wrong prickling between his shoulder blades.

He was checking the monitor feed again to find there was still no further update, when the medallion tucked safely in shirt pinged and grew warm against his chest.

Hurriedly fishing it out he saw the soft pink morganite that stood for Lilly was glowing brightly. Ginny’s diamond glinted faintly, so his wife was currently safe and happy; James’ ruby and Al’s emerald were both dull and uneasy, presumably over the situation at Hogwarts, but neither were in danger.

Harry flipped the medallion over and on the back, in Lilly’s neat copper-plate were the words,

_‘Dad, please can you come help’_

Harry had apparated before he’d even thought about it.

He landed neatly, mildly surprised that he hadn’t bounced off Hogwarts wards, then he saw Lily and realized his daughter had come out of Hogwarts to meet him at the apparition point by the front gate.

“Lily-flower, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said in the same vaguely exasperated way her brother’s always answered that question.

“So why did you call me?”

“Cause,” she pouted, looking sulky about even being asked.

Harry forced his thundering pulse to slow down and asked as patiently as he could, “Because?” 

“Because. Dad, I know you can’t interfere in an investigation, but if you’re Aurors are being all wrong and, and stupid, you can make them stop, right?”

“If I had alternative evidence, I would certainly present it to them,” Harry agreed cautiously. He’d told his children clearly (and more sternly as James grew older and wilder) that as an Auror he had a responsibility to more than just their family and he would not use his influence to let them evade the consequences of their actions. He’d rather his children never worked out this was pretty much a total lie.

Oh sure, he agreed children needed consequences for their actions and he certainly wasn’t going to help them avoid under-age magic citations or the like – but if one of children was up in front of Wizengamot with the threat of Azkaban in front of them, well Harry knew how to be ruthless when he needed to. He’d bind their magic and stick them in a muggle prison if he had to, the Dementors were not getting their claws on his children.

“And I could be a confidential witness, right? You wouldn’t tell anyone it was me that told you?”

“It would depend on the circumstances,” Harry frowned. “I think you should tell me everything, and then we can decide what’s best to do. Do you want me to call your mum?”

Lily shook her head, “Can you tell her later. Mum doesn’t always listen properly.”

Harry hid his wince. Ginny had inherited her mother’s temper and tendency to fly off the handle without the full story. Harry knew how to wait it out, and James just shouted back, he should have realized their quieter children would find it harder to deal with.

“Okay so,” Harry’s head snapped round as he felt the Hogwarts’ wards ripple around some brutally strong magic. Drawing his wand he stepped quickly in front of his daughter, “Lily stay behind me.”

“It’s only Grantaire, his magic always goes a bit wonky when he’s upset. I’m not supposed to know that though, so don’t tell anybody.”

“That was more than a bit wonky.”

Lily scrunched up her nose, “I guess it seemed louder than normal. Like he was really yelling, instead of just being noisy.”

“Grantaire was the bullied child? Is he in your year?”

“No, of course not,” said Lily, scornful of parental ignorance, “Grantaire’s a sixth year like Jamie. I only know him because he’s taking Latin and Greek too.”

“Oh, he’s one of those.” Several of the muggle-born students in James’ year were taking muggle courses. One of them was friendly with Albus who’d asked to take Latin on top of his regular classes, and then Lily had asked to Latin and Ancient Greek instead of Care of Magical Creatures, her second wizarding elective.

Harry opinion of Care of Magical Creatures had done a 180 since he’d taken the class, and while he was confident James had inherited the reflexes to deal with the risks, he was more than happy for his little Princess take nice safe language lessons instead. 

Ginny had been anxious it might affect her long term prospects, but Bill had reassured them that the need for Wizards and Witches to act as translators was so high they actually had to bring in Muggles to meet the demand and that with decent qualifications Lily would be able to walk into a job. Harry and Ginny were united in delight at the idea of at least one of their children picking a non-hazardous career and so, despite Hermione’s mutterings about the need for a rigorous magical education and not taking the soft option, Lily had been signed up for the classes.

“Yes. He’s pretty hopeless at magic – ”

Harry shook his head, because whatever that cold blast of magic was about, it was not hopeless.

“But he’s really good at Latin and Greek. And he’s really nice.”

“Oh you like him,” Harry strove desperately for an even tone. Ginny had been very clear about not threatening any of their daughter’s crushes.

“Yes I – No Dad. Not like that. Ugh. He’s like completely gone on Enjolras.”

“Enjolras.” Harry knew the name. “He’s a Slytherin pureblood.”

“Dad, don’t be prejudiced. Enjolras is, actually he is rather scary, but he’s not a pureblood how you mean. Enjolras is never nasty to the muggle-borns. And your Aurors are trying to say he is, and they’re wrong.”

“Okay sweetheart, I’ll check on them. I need to go and find out what your friend Grantaire was doing to make the wards react like that anyway. You, young lady, need to go back to your House.”

Lily glanced at the ground, “But you don’t mind that I called you?” she asked tentatively.

“No I don’t mind that you called me. You can always call me when you need help.”

“Thanks Dad,” she hugged him tightly.

Harry hugged her back. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but whoever was responsible for worrying her was going to regret it, especially if it was the rather scary Enjolras.


	6. Chapter 6

Grantaire slipped away from his friends easily. They were all caught up in who had done what. Grantaire really didn’t care. The important thing was to make sure Enjolras was safe, they could worry about everything else later.

The grapevine was in full bloom and the first students he met were able to confirm his guess that Enjolras had been taken to the Headmaster’s office. 

Broom-riding wasn’t Grantaire’s favorite thing but he was good at climbing and Hogwarts was friendly. She never wanted him to fall and would helpfully open chinks in the brickwork for him to use as hand and foot holds as he worked his way up. As a side bonus, Enjolras nearly always ended up at the foot of the walls yelling about how Grantaire was irresponsible idiot and that he wasn’t going to cart his broken body to Medical Wing, which always gave Grantaire the warm fuzzies.

One time he slipped – just a bit, he wasn’t in any danger or anything, you’d think purebloods who jetted around on a bunch of twigs would less jumpy about such things – and Enjolras had pinned him to wall with a sticking charm. Unfortunately panic had extended Enjolras’ range to make the charm work, but unpanicked he was unable to reverse it. And there wasn’t anything Grantaire could do because he was, you know, stuck to the wall. Enjolras could put a lot of oomph into his magic when he wanted to.

Anyway there had been a lot of running around and shouting, Grantaire hadn’t been involved in much of that because stuck to the wall. Finally Combeferre and Courfeyrac had flown up and retrieved him because Enjolras was too mad to control his broom. Courfeyrac had laughed so much he’d nearly fallen off his broom.

When they landed Enjolras had been there spitting fury, lightning practically sparking off his blond hair as his blue eyes burned. Grantaire had never realized quite how breath-stealing beautiful Enjolras was until that moment and his crush had tipped right over into hopeless adoration. All in all it would probably have been less painful to simply fall off the wall.

Still the practice was paying off as he climbed his way quickly towards the window of the Headmaster’s study. On the good side it was open, on the bad side that meant he could pick up the Aurors maliciously amused voices discussing the horrors of Azkaban and Enjolras not saying anything.

Enjolras not saying anything was just wrong. Grantaire climbed faster.

As he got closer he was able to hear Enjolras’ whooping breaths. That was the way Enjolras fought for air when he was very angry or very stressed. If Enjolras didn’t calm down, he could pass out right where he stood. The first time he had seen Enjolras crumple to the floor like an empty suit had been terrifying, and Grantaire had not grown any fonder of the experience.

He scrambled over the window ledge with no regard for the risk involved. Hogwarts helpfully bowed the ledge before snapping it straight and bouncing him into the room.

He pressed one hand against the floor in silent appreciation as he drew himself into a crouch, ready to attack.

 

Enjolras could feel his breath thick and raspy in his throat. He knew he needed to regain control but the sound of Grantaire’s sobs echoed through his mind and knocked his legs out from under him. He just wanted everything to stop.

The Grantaire catapulted into the room in a flurry of flannel and curls.

Enjolras stared. 

He wondered if his mind had conjured the image to torture him, but this Grantaire wasn’t sad and crying. This Grantaire was as mad as hell.

Gray-skinned and thin-lipped, lines of hate and temper scrawled across his face, his bright eyes hard and cold, he looked exactly like his father. Enjolras shivered when he thought how much Grantaire would hate that comparison.

He could feel Grantaire’s magic thrumming through the air like the static charge before a lightning storm. Never had he seen Grantaire so angry, not even in their worse fights. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forgive himself for pushing his friend to this point.

Hands suddenly grabbed Enjolras’ shoulder and he yelped in surprise as one of Aurors yanked at him.

Grantaire’s wand leapt into his hand.

Biting his lip and closing his eyes, Enjolras braced himself for the punch of Grantaire’s magic.

“ _Let him go_ ,” Grantaire snarled.

Enjolras’ ears popped in the rush of magic and he gasped for air that suddenly wasn’t there. Two loud thumps rattled the walls as the hands on him were ripped away to be replaced two warm calloused hands that smelt slightly of paint.

The hands stroked against his face gently.

“That’s it Apollo, breath for me now.”

Grantaire wanted Enjolras to breathe for him. Okay Enjolras could do that. It was harder than he remembered but with one hand cupping his cheek and the other pressing down on chest to help his lungs back into their rhythm, he managed.

“There we go, that’s good.”

Enjolras smiled as the warm voice curled around him.

“Okay perfect, you want to open your eyes for me.”

He shook his head briefly. He didn’t want to open his eyes and see again how angry Grantaire was at him.

“Aw come on, let me see those pretty eyes.”

Enjolras brows squinched together, “You think I have pretty eyes?”

“Sure you do, even prettier when you’re not frowning.” The hand rubbed softly at his forehead until his face relaxed again. “Come on now Enjolras, you’re starting to scare me.”

Oh that was not good. Grantaire shouldn’t be scared. Enjolras struggled for a moment, lashes fluttering wildly, then succeeded in levering his eyes open.

“There you are,” said Grantaire happily.

Enjolras gazed delightedly at the face in in front of his. All the anger had left Grantaire and he looked like himself again. 

“Not mad anymore.”

“No, I’m still plenty mad.”

“Oh,” Enjolras ducked his eyes away.

“Not with you, you idiot. I was never mad with you.”

Enjolras brightened, then he remembered and drooped again, “You should be,” he said dolefully.

“Nah, way too many other people to be mad at. Though if you’re going to keep insisting King Arthur’s Round Table was an inherently flawed concept we are going to have words.”

Enjolras blinked twice, “Oh, you are so very wrong.”

“Yeah?”

The slight encouragement was all he needed, and Enjolras rapidly began to numerate all the ways Grantaire was so very, very wrong while Grantaire simply grinned back at him.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry headed towards the Headmaster’s office. He was only mildly surprised to meet James and Albus apparently heading the same way.

“Boys?”

“Dad!”

Albus grinned at him, but James only managed a weak smile.

“Something you want to tell me”

James shuffled his feet but didn’t say anything.

“We were just looking for the Headmaster,” Albus said earnestly, the sort of earnest Harry had learned to be suspicious of. “Come on James.”

“Stop right there, spend some time with your old dad.” Harry looped his arms heavily over their shoulders, “Why don’t you tell me what’s cooking down at your joint.”

“Oh my God Dad, please stop trying to be slick with the kids,” James groaned, but he was laughing, so whatever trouble he was in couldn’t be that bad.

“You’re really awful at it,” Albus confirmed, patting Harry comfortingly on the arm.

“So what should I say?”

James stopped laughing.

“Um,” said Albus, “maybe - James, what have you let that idiot Montparnasse talk you into now.”

“So-o-o,” said Harry leadingly.

“It’s not my fault,” said James.

“No?”

“Well maybe a little bit. But if Enjolras wasn’t such a dick, nobody would want to prank him.”

“Hey,” said Albus, “Enjolras is not a dick. Just because he doesn’t fall all over you for being Harry Potter’s son. You’re just jealous because he’s better – ”

“That’s enough Albus,” Harry said quickly, recognizing from James’ white angry face that his second son’s unfortunate habit of striking home with the truth was about to come into play. It was one he shared himself, he’d much rather have the Weasley trick of yelling all manner of improbable things that were easy to apologize for after everything had calmed down.

“Yeah,” James glared at his younger brother, “And Enjolras is a Slytherin, Dad, he’s always picking on Montparnasse.”

“Then Montparnasse shouldn’t be so rotten to Grantaire and the others.”

“That’s not the point,” James snapped back, neatly confirming that Montparnasse was not an injured innocent in this scenario. “The point is, this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Oh and if Harry had a knut for every time somebody said that.

“He couldn’t have expected the Aurors would get called,” said Albus, promptly swapping sides to support his brother as all his children did when one of them faced a superior force. “Honest Dad, that’s not his fault.”

James glowered at his brother, because he never liked the idea of needing support. Harry could feel James reach around his back to tug on his brother’s robe making Albus yelp and squirm. He sighed and scrubbed his hands through his boys’ hair.

“Okay, someone want to tell me what prank you pulled on Enjolras?”

“We convinced him to send his crush an actual heart for Valentine’s Day,” said James in one rush of words.

“Oh,” Harry fought down his urge to snigger. That was a great, if rather mean, prank. “I trust it wasn’t a human heart.” Because you could never be too careful with Slytherins.

“Cow’s heart, because it’s the biggest, so that’s even more romantic.”

Harry choked, and frantically reminded himself he could under no circumstances laugh, “Right, and then what happened, his crush called the Aurors?”

“Don’t be silly. Grantaire would never do that. Mont and I thought Grantaire would be running around telling everyone how romantic it was. That would have been hysterical.”

“No it wouldn’t,” said Albus.

“Oh come on, Grantaire wouldn’t care as long as his Apollo asked him out.”

“Enough,” ordered Harry, forcibly pushing them further apart as Albus tried to yank at his brother’s robes. “James, I’m sure you thought it was an amazing prank, but how would you like it if someone amused themselves misleading you when you were trying to impress – ”

“Shut up Dad,” yelled James in extremis, already flushing in embarrassment.

“I think that proves my point.”

“Alright, so maybe we shouldn’t have done it, but Enjolras shouldn’t be so, ugh.”

Harry decided that was as good as he was going to get for the moment, at least his son was thinking about it. Any more pressure from Dad right now and James was going to solidify into a defensive position and refuse to admit he’d done anything wrong. And, technically, James hadn’t done anything wrong, taking advantage of Slytherin's pureblooded gullibility wasn’t exactly a crime. Harry would have a private talk with him later about pranks and unintended consequences.

“Alright then boys, do you have any more sins to confess before I go and find the Headmaster?”

They both shook their heads, with just enough hesitation to reassure Harry there was some mischief going on but nothing he had to worry about.

“Good. Now go owl your mum.”

“Da-a-ad.”

“Owl your mum. Or I can stick around long enough to have dinner in the Great Hall with you. I’m sure I’ll catch up on all the gossip that way.”

Albus looked horrified, James sulky (James probably figured Harry had no real intention of embarrassing them in the front of their school mates, but was sensible enough not to call his bluff) and they both nodded in agreement.

“We’ll go owl her now,” Albus promised fervently. “Come on Jamie.”

“Okay fine.”

Harry watched them go for a sentimental minute then went to find Headmaster Valjean.

“May I have a moment of your time, Headmaster” Harry asked politely. The man seemed somewhat occupied by a clutter of five anxious students.

“Ah Mr Potter,” Valjean smiled at him. Harry did his best not squirm. Valjean’s calm, heavy presence made him feel young and gauche.

The cluster of students startled, the two spokes-students flinched, then the one in Gryffindor colors stepped in front of the Slytherin, who was rapidly hustled to the back of the group and tucked away behind the two Hufflepuffs. The gangly Ravenclaw stepped up to the support the smaller Gryffindor, who smiled with practiced charm,

“Good morning Mr Potter.”

Harry nodded back, still slightly disconcerted by the sudden disappearance of the Slytherin and unable to work out what advantage the boy hoped to gain by skulking at the back of the group.

Valjean sighed like Harry had failed an exam. Harry regularly felt that way around him, he supposed it was a Headmaster thing.

“Mr Potter, perhaps you can assist us,” said Valjean.

“What seems to be the problem?”

“I cannot open my office doors, which is somewhat unfortunate as your Aurors are holding my student inside.”

Harry scowled, that was not remotely protocol. He quickly drew his wand and cast the counter for the Auror lock-spell.

The doors didn’t move.

“Whoo!” cried the Gryffindor. “Go Grantaire.”

“Shut up Courfeyrac,” said at least three different people.

Harry scowled harder and hit the door with the Auror hex for forcing doors open. His movements were strident and his voice was loud.

The doors still didn’t move.

“Oh dear,” said Valjean, “I was a bit worried the doors were the work of Grantaire.”

“We told you they were,” said Courfeyrac irrepressibly. The Ravenclaw looped one long arm over his shoulders and covered his mouth with his hand,

“What Courfeyrac meant to say, sir, was we are very sorry for all the trouble and inconvenience.”

“Nonsense my boy, this makes a pleasant change from dealing with the unfortunate results of illicit love potions.”

“How would a student be able to put up such a strong lock?” Harry asked as he surreptitiously tried again to budge the stubborn doors.

“Grantaire’s not very good at spellwork,” said the twitchier Hufflepuff, “but he’s brilliant at magic.”

“And Hogwarts likes him,” added the other other Hufflepuff.

“Like a lot,” Courfeyrac had wriggled free and now bounced in place as he flung his arms wide to demonstrate exactly how much. “The stairs trundle him wherever he wants to go. I’m not sure if it’s sweet or creepy.”

“Creepy,” said the Slytherin dourly.

“So Mr Potter,” said Valjean, “I would ask that you cast with me.”

They did. And now Harry could feel Hogwarts’ reluctance. It was stubborn and sulky but Valjean’s authority compelled the castle while Harry dealt with the extremely determined magic on the door. It wasn’t any particular locking spell, it felt more like someone had just gummed up the doors with gallons of glue, clumsy but effective, and Harry had to use brute force to break through.

When the doors gave they gave with a malicious suddenness that sent Harry staggering. There was another, quickly muted, cheer for the absent Grantaire.

Inside the study Harry found his two Aurors sprawled inelegantly face down on the floor surrounded by scattered papers.

“Oh dear,” said Valjean.

The two men were fine, breathing easily, just unconscious, they’d be right as rain after a trip to St Mungo's. Again it wasn’t a spell Harry recognized the effects of, more like they’d pushed into unconsciousness and told to stay there.

The Ministry could always use inventive spellwork like this, “Is Grantaire considering a career in the Aurors?”

Courfeyrac laughed out loud. The politer Ravenclaw ducked his head and coughed loudly. The others fell somewhere in between, choking on their amusement.

“I don’t think Grantaire is entirely suited to that line of work,” said Valjean.

“Oh, oh, oh,” gasped Courfeyrac. “Can you imagine Grantaire arresting Enjolras?”

“Not easily,” said the Slytherin.

“He should still think about joining the Ministry.”

“We’ll, uh, let him know,” said the Ravenclaw.

Harry turned his attention to tracking the missing two students. The scattered papers had been blown about the room by the breeze through the wide open window behind the desk. It would be unusually careless for an owner of the desk to leave his room like that, and sure enough when Harry went over to look, there was a rope trailing out of the window to the ground.

“That’s peculiar,” said the Slytherin peering out the window.

“What is?” demanded Harry.

“Nothing Mr Potter,” the Slytherin slipped away again to talk talk rapidly and fiercely at the Hufflepuffs.

Harry filed that under to be worried about later, and turned his attention back to the Headmaster.

“The boys must have fled out the window. We need to search the grounds, I can call in more Aurors if you think that would help?”

Valjean shook his head, “I don’t believe that will be necessary Mr Potter.”

“They’ll have gone to France,” said the less twitchy Hufflepuff. “Enjolras’ family live in Provence.”

Oh, they were one of those families. A lot of purebloods, particularly those with young families, had moved to France in the seventies to escape Voldemort’s rise to power. They stayed during Voldemort’s second rise to power but once Harry had defeated Voldemort for good, their grandchildren had started to trickle back to Hogwarts and Britain. Harry couldn’t blame them for leaving to protect their families, but he didn’t like them very much.

“I feel we are getting away from the point,” said Valjean, “I have spoken to my students, and I believe you Mr Potter have your own sources of information?” he smiled gently at Harry, and continued at Harry’s nod, “I am satisfied that the matter is a misunderstanding. Mr Potter?”

“I would like to speak to the student concerned,” said Harry, because while the precipitating incident had been resolved, he was still concerned by the pensieve of memories his Aurors had reported that indicated an extensive campaign of bullying over a considerable time. James hadn’t supplied that and it must have come from somewhere. Harry wanted to be certain in his own mind the Slytherins were not taking the opportunity to bully the Muggle-borns.

The students huffed and they all looked at the Slytherin for direction, which Harry found suspicious. The Slytherin sighed heavily,

“Sir,” he appealed to Valjean.

“I don’t believe we need involve ourselves in schoolboy squabbles, Mr Potter,” said Valjean

“There is penesieve testimony,” Harry explained patiently. 

There was a sharp gasp, Harry spun around searching for the source, and the twitchy Hufflepuff fell right over his feet.

“Did you provide the pensieve memories?” he asked. “They were some from in your common room.”

“No, no, no” said the twitchy Hufflepuff frantically, eyes skittering around the room.

“Absolutely not,” said the other Hufflepuff, stumbling into the others in his eagerness disclaim responsibility.

“Of course you didn’t,” said Valjean soothingly. “And I believe speaking to Grantaire will be easy enough to arrange. Combeferre?”

The Slytherin scowled, “The Auror,” he jerked his head at Harry, “has to promise Enjolras isn’t going to be sent to Azkaban first.”

“Any punishment would be a Hogwarts internal matter and it would be for Headmaster Valjean to decide an appropriate punishment.” The Auror Office would only step in for the worst cases of Muggleborn abuse.

The Slytherin squinted at him suspiciously, and demanded, “Wizard’s Oath.”

Harry sighed, Slytherins - always judging others by themselves. He swore a quick simple oath making sure it was time-lapsed so it would cause no issues in the future.

The Slytherin huffed but said, “Fine.”

There was a strange noise from the corner of the office, that gradually resolved itself into the sounds of an argument, and then two boys stepped out of the shadows of a very good illusion spell.

“There’s no reason for you to come too, he only wanted to speak to me,” said a dark-haired ugly little imp of a boy.

“I am involved too,” said the cool voice of a tall blond boy who somehow managed to look even more aristocratically elegant than Malfoy. Harry wouldn’t have thought that was possible, it might be giving him a weird sort of flashback.

“So, not France,” he said.

“Oops,” said the Hufflepuff who’d claimed that’s where they’d gone. “My mistake.”

The dark-haired boy glared, “Enjolras wouldn’t go.”

“I will not be run off like a frightened rabbit,” sneered the blond boy.

“Sweet Merlin,” cried the cheerful Gryffindor, Courfeyrac, “could you two stop arguing for two minutes. You’re supposed to be convincing Mr Potter that you’re friends.”

For a second the dark-haired boy looked so twisted up Harry wondered if he was actually deformed. Then the blond boy said,

“Of course we’re friends,” with all the superior conviction of a Malfoy, as if he could in no way be denied - and the dark-haired boy smiled wide and open. Harry blinked a couple of times at the different it made to his face and noticed his eyes were a vibrant green. He didn’t know how he could have missed it before.

Harry had been ready to ask about the accusations of bullying but it seemed rather foolish in the face of their obvious side-by-side attitude. Before he had to decide how to proceed there was a knocking on the Headmaster’s door.

“Excuse me one moment,” said Valjean. “I suspect this may prove relevant as I believe we are missing a few of my favorite trouble-makers.”

“We are not trouble-makers,” said the blond boy, sounding outraged. Everyone else laughed, even Valjean.

Valjean opened the door and a whole crowd of students spilled in. A Hufflepuff was shoved out in front of Valjean and the rest retreated to join the other student. From the quick arm pats and shoulder nudges, Harry could see they were a group of friends checking in with each other. The mix of Houses was still surprising to him. He wasn’t surprised when the new Slytherin, a slender boy with Middle-eastern features, stepped forward,

“Headmaster,” he began, only to be quickly hushed by a slight Ravenclaw. “What,” said the Slytherin, “I’m a Muggle-born Slytherin, what’s he going to do to me?”

Harry hadn’t realized Muggle-borns could join Slytherin.

“Headmaster,” said the Slytherin again, “Macmillan wants to confess his sins.”

The Hufflepuff abandoned in front of the Headmaster, and now Harry was looking he could see the Macmillan jaw, scowled fiercely.

“Don’t you, Macmillan,” the Slytherin prompted threat clear in voice. The Ravenclaw at his side twirled his wand airily. The big, broad Gryffindor cracked his knuckles and rubbed his fist against his chin. Harry realized the three fighters had been dispatched to round up Macmillan while the other’s talked to Valjean. He admired the strategy although he couldn’t approve of the threats. He looked to Valjean to see how he would react.

The Headmaster sighed, “Macmillan would you like to explain your side of the story?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong. Montparnasse was the one who played the joke. I didn’t do anything except tell the truth. You can’t fake penesieve memories.”

In actuality you could fake penesieve memories but the ability to do so was way beyond a Hogwarts student.

“It’s not my fault Enjolras is nasty, and Grantaire is a whiny little cry-baby.”

The surge in magic made the hairs on the back of Harry’s arms stand up. He glanced around for the threat as the small dark-haired boy, Grantaire, shouted,

“You showed them memories of,” the rest of his words was lost in a thundering roar as all the books started to shake on the shelves.

The students cried out in dismay and suddenly they were all piling in on Grantaire, grabbing him around the waist and clutching his arms.

“Leave him alone,” shouted the blond Malfoy clone, “He’ll listen to me, Grantaire! Grantaire you have to stop. Please stop.”

The storm stilled and everything went pindrop still.

“They showed you me crying,” Grantaire whispered so quietly Harry could barely hear him even in the silence.

The Malfoy clone bit his lip and nodded.

The magic swirling around them was sucked away so rapidly Harry staggered as the lights abruptly went out. 

“Grantaire.” 

“Grantaire?”

“Oh shit.”

“Grantaire!” That was the Malfoy clone, his voice shrill and scared.

Harry got his wits about him and started to cast Lumnos spells, and he could feel Valjean doing the same. When the lights came back on though he had a feeling it was Hogwarts humoring them. 

Blinking in the sudden brightness, Harry heard the students calling anxiously for Grantaire and realized the small dark-haired boy had vanished

“Help me!” shrieked Macmillan. 

Spinning around, Harry stared in disbelief. The boy had sunk up to his ankles into the stone floor of the castle.

“Hmm,” said Valjean, “it seems you forgot the school motto, Macmillan, not a particularly wise thing to do, and now the dragon’s woken up.”

“Get me out of here!”

“I think perhaps an apology would be in order.”

“No,” said the Malfoy clone. “Grantaire shouldn’t have to listen to an insincere apology from the idiot. We all know he’s not sorry.”

“That’s a fair point Enjolras, what would you suggest instead?”

“He can stay there til Grantaire calms down.”

“I can’t just leave a student embedded in the school floor.”

“Then you are welcome to extract him. We are going to go and find Grantaire.” He stalked forward, pausing to glare at the trapped boy, “Macmillan in three months time I’ll be seventeen and able issue a challenge. Mess with Grantaire again and you’ll meet me on the duelling field. And remember, I am nowhere near as nice as Grantaire.”

Head high, he swept imperiously from the room. 

Harry was definitely having a Malfoy flashback.

 

Finding Grantaire was easier than they let the Professors believe. Joly or Bossuet could just think ‘Grantaire’ at Hogwarts and she would nudge them along until they reached him. When he was upset, Jehan and Bahorel could track him by the feel of his off-center magic. Or as Bahorel put it, they could feel the disturbance in the force. None of the Muggle-borns had been successful in explaining why that made them giggle.

Courfeyrac though he couldn’t do that part, could be the sensible one who pointed out that if they all descended on Grantaire en masse he was likely to flee again, or blow something up, or both. Probably both.

After some discussion and a few brief squabbles, they thinned the party down to Enjolras, for obvious reasons, Jehan, because he refused to be left behind, and Courfeyrac, because apparently somebody sensible had to go along. Courfeyrac didn’t see why he had to be nominated. Joly and Bossuet declined the honor, preferring to stay behind so they could, “um talk to him afterward,” said Bossuet, with a nervous glance at Enjolras, by which they clearly meant pick up the pieces.

Courfeyrac didn’t understand what they were so nervous about. It had admittedly been an overly dramatic day but now Enjolras and Grantaire could finally put an end to their dewy-eyed pining and move on to googly-eyed lovey-doviness.

“Lovey-doviness is not a word,” hissed Jehan as they followed Enjolras to Grantaire’s favorite hiding spot near the Lake.

“Tis so,” Courfeyrac hissed back. “I just used it in a sentence, and you understood me, ergo, it’s a word.”

“That is not how it works.”

“Sure it is.”

“And it’s definitely not how Enjolras and Grantaire work. It is all going to go horribly wrong.”

“Don’t be so pessi - oh.”

Montparnasse was sneaking back towards the castle along the same path they were using. As he passed them he smirked horribly.

“Oh dear,” said Jehan.

Courfeyrac closed his eyes.

“I didn’t think it was going to this wrong. Come on,” Jehan grabbed his arm and then pelted along the path after Enjolras who was running flat out.

Grantaire’s favorite hiding spot was really a case of hiding in plain sight. A large alder tree stood on what appeared to be the edge of the lake, but if you walked close enough the ground dipped below the thick roots to form a tiny bay with a large smooth rock, just big enough to fit one person, or two if they were friendly.

Grantaire was sitting on the rock, knees tucked up close to his chest. He looked up at their thundering approach.

“Hey.”

“Grantaire, we saw Montparnasse, are you alright?” Enjolras skidded down onto the rock, ignoring the damp mud clinging to his hands and robe. 

“I’m fine.”

Panting, Courfeyrac leaned against the tree and looked at Jehan stopped beside him. Jehan held one hand flat and waggled it dubiously, so from what he could feel Grantaire was mostly okay.

“Are you sure?” Enjolras patted at him, checking for a clearly non-existent injury.

“I’m fine.” Grantaire shoved his hands away. “Montparnasse was apologizing.”

“Voluntarily?”

“Yeah, surprised me too. He said he was sorry for being a dick and telling you Muggle friends celebrated Valentine’s day.”

“Muggles don’t celebrate Valentine’s day?”

Courfeyrac raised a questioning eyebrow at Jehan. Jehan scowled furiously, “Of course Muggles celebrate Valentine’s day.”

“Not as _friends_ ,” exclaimed Grantaire, waving his arms around in exasperation.

“Wait, what?” said Courfeyrac. Enjolras looked like he’d just been smacked in the face. Jehan cursed nastily.

“Friends,” faltered Grantaire uncertainly. “Montparnasse said you wanted to be friends, was he lying about that part?”

Courfeyrac could see Grantaire setting his jaw and bracing himself for scorn. His heart ached for him and he wasn’t at all surprised that Enjolras said fiercely,

“Yes of course I want to be friends with you.”

Grantaire smiled back radiantly. He held out his hand, “Friends?”

“Friends.”

 

Grantaire expected Enjolras to shake his hand and was delightedly surprised when Enjolras pulled him forward into a rough hug. This was better than he could have imagined. It was one thing to sweetly torture himself with the fantasy that Enjolras sent him a Valentine and liked him back but that was never going to happen.

This though was real, Enjolras wanted to be friends, proper friends, not we know lots of the same people so we tolerate each other’s presence sort of friends.

It was just like Enjolras’ stupidly over dramatic self (Enjolras could say what he liked but he was _such_ a hopeless drama llama) that they ended up having the Aurors called in. Grantaire was going to put cane toads in Macmillan’s bed every night from now until Christmas.

But still it wasn’t all that bad, not if got him here, Enjolras arm around him. Actually with all the running around and what-not, Grantaire was feeling distinctly sleepy and Enjolras’ shoulder was right there. Daringly he leaned his head against his friend’s ( _his friend_ , when he was more awake Grantaire was going to turn a few cartwheels in honor of that) shoulder and felt his eyes slowly drift close.

 

Enjolras sighed happily, it wasn’t what he really wanted, not totally, but this was still nice. And Grantaire had looked so desperately hopeful at the idea of being merely friends - how had Enjolras failed so badly that Grantaire hadn’t even realized they were friends - that anything else could wait. He still remember those penesieve images of Grantaire so unhappy because of him. Enjolras didn’t deserve to have Grantaire as a boyfriend, not yet.

Anyway, this wasn’t so bad, Grantaire falling asleep leaning trustingly against him. 

Enjolras sat them both down on the rock - it was suspiciously comfy for a rock, as soft and squishy as a sofa, Grantaire must have charmed it. Grantaire cuddled sleepily into his side, clutching at his robe with one hand. Enjolras cautiously petted the tempting dark curls, smiling in delight at Grantaire’s happy hum.

 

Watching them both, Courfeyrac awwed out loud. Jehan cursed.

Enjolras half closed eyes flew open and glared fire at them.

“Oo-kay,” said Courfeyrac, “we’ll be going now,” and he dragged Jehan with him. No point in poking sleeping dragons after all.

“What are you so grumpy about anyway?” he asked Jehan as the other boy moodily stomped along.

Jehan huffed, “You realize this means at least another year of ridiculous pinning?”

Courfeyrac realized with horror that he was right. “Oh no, this is awful. But don’t worry I will come up a plan.”

“Now I know we’re doomed.”

 

Unaware of the secret plan and clever tricks being thought up on their behalf, Enjolras and Grantaire, both perfectly happy, snoozed peacefully in the sunshine.


End file.
